Date: Thu, 10 Jan 2002 19:30:09 -0500
From: Writer Boy
Subject: jc's hitchhiker - part 45
Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.
2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no
way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or
anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've
enjoyed hearing from all of you.
That said, on with the show, and back to the story in progress.
***
Carla was waiting patiently for me when the plane landed, despite the fact
that it was much later here than it had been in Los Angeles. I noticed the
large, probably "grande" cup of coffee next to her, and realized that it
had to be the only thing keeping her awake. She saw me coming down the
concourse and smiled, jumping up to hug me. I hadn't realized how much I'd
been missing her until I actually saw her. In at least one way, it was good
to be home.
"Welcome back," she said, squeezing me tightly. "Sorry it's not under
better circumstances."
"Thanks," I said. "Want to go get my suitcase?"
"Sure," she said, falling into step beside me.
"So," I began, glancing over at her. "Tell me a story."
"I'd love to," she said, shaking her head. "It's been a long frigging
night, let me tell you. OK, so right after dinner I got this call from
your landlord. He had my number because they wanted to come in last week
and work on the heaters or something, and they wanted to do it now while no
one has theirs on. Anyway, your landlord calls me to tell me that there's
some graffiti on the side of the building, and that the girl who lives
across the hall from you called because someone tossed something through
your window."
"OK, I'm with you so far," I said, as we waited by the carousel for my
suitcase to come sliding by.
"So I drive over, and there's like three cop cars, because your landlord
gave the police your name, and some dipshit at the police station was like,
'Oh my God, do you know who that is?' so every cop in town shows up," Carla
continued, shaking her head. "I got out of the car, and they were actually
setting up police tape around your building."
"Jesus," I said, shaking my head. "Why?"
"Because the TV station sent their news van, and they wanted to look very
official, I guess," Carla said, shrugging.
"They sent a news van? For me?" I asked, surprised. "Carla, I'm nobody."
"Yes, but you're dating somebody," she clarified. "Local news has been all
over that with community reaction and all that crap. Very circuslike. The
newspaper sent someone, too, so don't be surprised if this ends up on the
AP wire. Anyway, I'm convincing the guy at the barricade that I actually am
allowed inside, and your landlord comes and drags me in so we can go survey
the damage."
"Don't keep me in suspense," I grumbled, grabbing my suitcase. We began to
walk toward the main doors.
"You really want to know?" she asked. "Because, I mean, I'm taking you over
there in the morning."
"Just tell me now and get it over with," I said with tired resignation. I
needed to know what we were dealing with, so that I wouldn't be totally
surprised when I saw it tomorrow.
"Well, we have a 'No Fags', a 'No Queers', and a 'Kill All Queers' on the
front of your apartment building, and your door says that 'Mr. Springer
Likes Boys'," Carla began, lighting a cigarette as soon as we got
outside. She glanced at me. "Are you really sure you want to hear this
right now?"
"I'm fine, Carla," I lied. "I'm going to see it tomorrow anyway."
"OK, so, you, know, based on the door the cops are guessing some kids from
school did it," Carla continued. "Of course nobody saw anything, even
though they took statements from everyone in your building and all of the
neighbors. The brick through your window had a note wrapped around it, with
a rubber band. The police wouldn't let me take it, of course, but it was
mostly just this thing about how 'we' don't want 'your kind' here in our
town, or some such bullshit. They said they'd be happy to show it to you if
you want to come down to the station."
"We'll see," I said. "What about the news people?"
"Well, I didn't talk to anyone, but it was all over the local news at 11,"
Carla answered, driving toward her house. "I figured you can stay with me,
since none of them know where I live, and at least that way you'll get some
peace and quiet. Your landlord and I, and Tom, that guy who lives above
you, got a piece of plywood up in your window frame, and nothing inside
your apartment was broken. Then Tom helped me clean up the glass. How come
you never introduced me to him before, by the way?"
"Because he lives with his fiancee," I answered, smiling. Only Carla would
look for a man while dealing with landlords, police, and reporters.
"Not anymore," Carla corrected, grinning. "They broke up two weeks ago
because she was cheating on him. We're having dinner on Monday."
I shook my head as we both laughed.
"As long as something positive comes from this," I said, giggling.
"Shut up," Carla said, grinning. "This'll work out, for you and me both.
Getting back to the rest of the story, though, I talked to your landlord,
and he says that he's not going to terminate your lease, since you're a
good tenant and he has no grounds to, so at least you're not getting
evicted."
"Who's paying for the damage?" I asked.
"I forgot to ask," Carla admitted, shrugging.
I thought about all of this for a few minutes as we sped down the dark
highways, headlights washing over us from passing cars. Carla finished her
cigarette and lit up another one, and I bummed one off of her. Her eyebrows
went up, and you could tell that something really sarcastic was dangling on
the tip of her tongue, but she held it in. I was all prepared to offer the
excuse that I was under stress and that made it ok, too. My house had been
attacked. Someone had come to my home and written things on the walls.
Someone had broken my window, broken into my space. And why? Not because of
anything I had done to them, but because of who I was. It wasn't fair, but
life was usually like that. Not only that, but the police had now pestered
all of my neighbors. Maybe I should send them all little notes to
apologize.
"Carla, answer this honestly, ok?" I began, looking over at her. "What have
people been saying?"
"Honestly?" she asked, shrugging, stalling for time. "It hasn't been too
bad, actually. I mean, you're out to everyone who knows you anyway, so it's
not like people are really surprised. Well, not about that, anyway. Lots of
people are really surprised about who you're dating, especially when they
found out that JC was actually here. You guys made the front page of the
Lifestyles section of the paper the other day. I saved it for you."
"Gee, thanks," I said. "I'll add it to my scrapbook."
"Oh, I've been keeping one for you, don't worry," Carla said,
shrugging. "If you're asking about whether there's been lots of uproar,
then no, not really. Like I said, most people are just like, 'Oh, how'd
Jack meet him?'"
"You didn't tell anyone, did you?" I asked, curious.
"Of course not," she answered. "With you out of town, everybody's been
calling me to get the scoop. I'm the most popular girl in school, let me
tell you. I've been asked out to so many things in the past couple days I
won't have to cook for weeks. That new girl who teaches in the music
department even wanted to know if I could get you to ask JC to have the
band come for the Christmas concert."
"That's six months from now," I pointed out.
"I know," Carla said, shrugging. "I've never had so much fun teaching
summer school. And the kids? Oh my God, I've never seen people take such
an interest in Health. I think every girl in summer school right now tried
to switch into my classes. I have girls coming up to my desk after every
class going, 'Miss Donato, have you talked to Mr. Springer? Is he coming
back soon? Is JC coming with him?' And, you know, Racquelle's told that
story about him helping her in the library about a thousand times now."
"Sorry," I said, shaking my head. I don't know why the things some of our
kids did continued to surprise me, but they did. "So, if nobody seems
really upset, where does the rest of this come in?"
"Oh, you mean the petition," Carla said, as I nodded. "That's just a bunch
of bullshit, Jack. Don't let it bother you."
"Maggie said they were at the grocery store?" I asked. Maggie White was one
of the social studies teachers.
"Yeah, she called my cell phone while I was on my way to your apartment,"
Carla said. "Apparently some of the parents were out in front of the
store, talking about how you were going to bring undue media attention to
the school, and that it would be disruptive to the kids' education. It's
Constance Martin's mother, so you know what this is really about."
Constance Martin was the president of the church youth group, and her
mother was legendary at the school for trying to bring back prayer before
football games and for trying to block the science department from teaching
evolution. At Open House every fall it was a ritual that new teachers had
Mrs. Martin pointed out to them, because they'd have to deal with her at
some point. There were six other Martins besides Constance. One of them was
bound to come through one of your classes at some point.
"So it's the gay thing," I said unhappily.
"Yeah, it is, but she's not going to say that," Carla said. "Instead she's
hiding behind this idea that somehow you're going to transform the school
into this big media circus, and that there are going to be newsvans parked
out front of the school every day harassing the kids and keeping them from
getting an education."
"But Carla, I've been gay all along," I said, shrugging. "It's not like it
was a secret. Why is it suddenly a problem now?"
"Maggie asked her the same question at the grocery store," Carla said,
smiling. "She wouldn't come right out and answer her, but we think we have
it. Jack, you being gay isn't just something for the kids to make jokes
about anymore, the way they talk about all of us, and who's dating whom,
and everything else we do and don't do and are rumored to have done. Now,
Mrs. Martin turns on her TV, and there you are flaunting it for the whole
world to see. Suddenly, God forbid, the kids might actually think it's
cool."
"OK, Carla, the kids are never going to think it's cool to be gay," I said,
laughing. "Football players aren't going to watch MTV and then start
making out with each other."
"No probably not," Carla agreed, laughing. "But Jack, maybe they'll think
that it's cool for someone else to be gay. Where the hell is that going to
leave people like Alice Martin?"
"In the dark ages where they belong?" I asked. "Carla, kids already think
it's ok. They have movies, and their TV shows, and soap operas. I mean,
Jesus, Carla, you can buy rainbow rings at Claire's in the mall. It's not
exactly counterculture."
"I can't believe I'm arguing this with you," Carla said. "Jack, are you
living under a rock? Yes, people might be a little more open to it, but
they're not half as accepting as you're trying to argue that they are, and
you know I'm right."
I admitted nothing, sighing grudgingly.
"Carla, why are you so worried about this?' I asked, confused. "Alice
Martin is a nutjob. Everyone knows that."
"Yeah, but she's got some of the other parents supporting her," Cara said,
shaking her head. "And Maggie said they already had over a hundred names on
their petition."
Suddenly I didn't want to hear anymore. Over a hundred names? Over a
hundred people had signed a petition saying that I should lose my job
because I was a danger to the kids, because I was a threat to the school?
Over a hundred people thought I should be put out of work, put out into the
streets, because of who I loved? Some of them must be people I knew. Some
of them must be people that I saw at school, or people who dropped by
during open house. They must be the people I saw at the post office, or the
grocery store, people who had smiled at me and said hello, but who had
apparently been thinking something else all along. The kids who painted my
walls must be kids I knew, too. Kids who came into my library, kids I
passed in the halls, kids I had never been anything but nice to.
We didn't speak for the rest of the ride. Carla turned the radio on, and we
listened to it, staring out the windows. I don't know what she was
thinking, and I didn't want to ask. I was just thinking about how wrong I'd
been, how I didn't really know anyone, and nothing was the way I thought it
was or should be. I thought that I was so comfortable with my life, that
everyone who was nice to me really didn't care if I was gay or not. I'd
become complacent, because I was content. I took everyone at face value,
assumed that everyone wanted to be my friend, because that's the way I
treated them. Josh had told me once that one of the things he loved about
me was the way I thought I knew it all, and I realized that I didn't really
know anything.
When we got to Carla's, she helped me pull out the sleeper sofa, since she
lived in a one bedroom, and then, yawning, she told me she was going to
bed. I realized that I hadn't even thanked her yet, after she'd put up with
a hell of a lot for me this evening.
"Carla, thank you for everything," I said, hugging her.
"That's what friends are for, kiddo," she said, stepping back. She looked
at me for a second, peering into my eyes like a scientist. "You miss him,
don't you?"
"Yeah," I answered, nodding. "How can you tell?"
"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "You just look kind of, I don't know,
kind of lost, or incomplete. You've got the same look on your face that you
have when you can't find your wallet or your car keys, like you're missing
something important and have no idea where it is."
"Yeah, that just about sums it up," I said, pulling my phone from my
pocket. "I think I'm going to call him. It's late, but he's probably
trying to wait up."
I could see Josh in my mind's eye, sitting up in bed, trying to read a
magazine, nodding off and forcing himself awake again. Josh needed a
certain amount of sleep every day, and once he started yawning at night,
that was it. One yawn, and you had about five minutes before he was out
like a light. No matter how tired he was, though, I knew he wouldn't let
himself fall asleep until he talked to me, and knew that I was ok.
"Well, tell the boy I said hi," Carla said, walking toward her bedroom.
"I'll be in here if you need to talk, ok? Good night, Jack."
"Night, Carla, and thanks again," I said. She closed her door, and I sat on
the bed, dialing Josh with one hand as I pulled off my shoes with the
other.
"Thizzish JC," Josh slurred into the phone.
"Gosh, you sure sound sexy when you're half-awake, Joshua," I said,
smiling. I began to strip out of my clothes.
"Jack!" he said, sounding a lot more awake. "Hi! Is everything ok? How are
you? Where are you?"
"Slow down, Josh, please," I said, laughing. "I'm at Carla's, and it's very
quiet here. She told me all about everything that's going on, and I'm going
to go check on my apartment and see the police tomorrow."
"Is it really bad?" Josh asked. I heard him click on the lamp next to the
bed, and imagined him sitting up, the sheet falling away from his bare,
tanned torso. "I'm worried about you, and I miss you."
"I'm ok, I guess," I answered, trying to decide how I felt. "I mean, I'm
not happy. I guess right now I just kind of feel really surprised, and
hurt, more than anything else. Carla said over a hundred people have signed
this petition thing."
"Jack, do you need a lawyer?" Josh asked seriously. "I can send someone,
you know."
"No, Josh, I don't think it's anywhere near that bad yet," I answered
quickly. "I'm going to go in and see my principal tomorrow, but I'm pretty
sure the school is going to stand behind me on this one."
"OK, but if you need anything, just call me, please," Josh said.
"I will, Josh, I promise," I said, leaning back into the bed. It wasn't
exactly comfortable. "I miss you, too."
"It feels so strange being here without you," Josh sighed. "I mean, the bed
seems like it's just huge, and empty. I keep expecting you to come out of
the bathroom, or up from the pool, or something. I just feel kind of lost
right now."
"I know how you feel," I agreed, because I felt it, too. I don't know when
Josh and I had suddenly become inseparable, but I just felt empty inside
without having him right there. "All I keep doing in the back of my head
is trying to figure out how fast I can handle all of this, so I can get
back to you."
"This is a lot harder than I thought it would be," he sighed again.
"Being a couple?" I asked, confused.
"No, being apart," he answered. We were both quiet for a minute, just
listening to each other breathe, trying to figure out some way to reach
across the miles between us. "Hey, Jack, what's Carla's address?"
I gave it to him, and then asked, "Why? Should I expect something?"
"Maybe," he answered, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "And don't
start any of that stuff you usually do about how you don't want presents,
ok?"
"I didn't say a word," I said defensively. "Will I like it?"
"I know you will," he answered. "Look for it tomorrow, at about five, your
time."
"I love you so much, Josh," I said, sighing.
"I know, because I love you that much, too," Josh answered.
"On that note, and since you sound so tired, I'm going to order you to go
to sleep," I said. "I'm not having you in trouble at the studio tomorrow."
"OK, but you be careful tomorrow, too, ok?" Josh asked. "You sound down,
and I'm worried about you."
"I'll be fine, Josh, I swear," I said. "Don't get distracted over me, ok?"
"Can't help it," he sighed. "Good night, Jack."
"Good night, Josh," I answered.
After I hung up the phone it took me a very long time to fall asleep. At
first I thought it was because I couldn't get comfortable in the bed, but
eventually I realized that it was because I couldn't get comfortable
without Josh. I missed him, and he missed me, and all that seemed to add up
to was a situation with no winners.
In the morning Carla was up before me, but tried to be quiet. After she
showered and got dressed, I crawled into the shower, cursing the fact that
my body stubbornly insisted that it was the middle of the night. I met
Carla at the table, where she pushed a cup of coffee and the morning
newspaper toward me. Since it was the local paper, it was small enough that
the vandalism, combined with the story of the petition, made the front
page, but at least it was below the fold.
"Shit," I murmured, sipping my coffee. "How the hell did they put the two
together so fast?"
"Alice Martin probably called the paper herself," Carla said, shaking her
head.
I skimmed the article, reading over the paragraphs about outraged parents
concerned that their children not be exposed to a "media circus", or the
"low morals" so prevalent in the entertainment industry. I wondered if that
might border on slander, but figured that the paper probably had a legal
department to checked such things. And it was part of a quote from
Mrs. Martin, not from the newspaper itself. If I decided to sue her,
though, it would just generate more publicity. The rest of the article
offered a recap of the awards ceremony the other night, including the
"surprising revelation" that JC Chasez was "seriously involved" with local
high school librarian Jack Springer, who could not be reached for comment.
"I can't believe this is our newspaper," I said, shaking my head. "It's
worse than People magazine."
"Hey, you're the closest thing we have to a local celebrity," Carla said,
grinning. "So, what's our plan for the day?"
"Well, since you said I can take the car, I'm dropping you off at school,"
I began. "Then I'm going to check on my apartment, and survey the
damage. After that, the police station, and then I'm heading back to school
to meet with Principal Richardson. After that we head back here, and wait
for a five o'clock delivery of some sort of gift from Josh."
"Is it a chef again?" Carla asked excitedly. "I liked that present!"
"God knows," I said, shaking my head. "All I know is he said to be here,
and that I'd like it."
"You're so spoiled," she said, as we gathered her things and headed for the
car. "I hate you."
"You're just jealous," I said, laughing.
I dropped Carla off at the school, driving all the way around the back to
avoid being seen by any of the summer school students. I didn't want to
deal with my almost-celebrity status at the moment. While hiding in the
school parking lot, I also called the secretary in the main office, and got
my appointment for the afternoon. Not a normally friendly woman, today she
seemed to have been dipped in ice, at least to me, and I wondered if she
was one of the one hundred names. Dismissing the thought, I drove to my
apartment.
Fortunately for the vandals, but not so much so for us, the exterior of the
building was off-white siding, and the words stood out starkly, even from a
distance. Carla had told me what they said last night, but that still
didn't compare to actually seeing them, to standing outside the place where
I lived and knowing that someone had come there and done this specifically
to hurt me. I didn't recognize the handwriting, but would have been
surprised if I did. Going in, I didn't see any of my neighbors, so I keyed
into my apartment for a look around. As Carla had promised, nothing
appeared to be broken, except for the window, and she and Tom had done a
good job of cleaning up the broken glass. I saw it sparkling in the
garbage can.
The plywood rectangle glared from its space on the wall, and it made the
whole front room of the apartment rather dark. Even after I switched on a
light, it still looked rather dark, and somewhat depressing. There was a
fine layer of dust over everything, and my whole apartment had the air of
an unused, long empty space. It had only been a few weeks, but there was
just an atmosphere of emptiness hanging so thickly about the entire
place. I wondered if it had always been there, and if maybe I hadn't
noticed because I had been rather empty the entire time I lived here,
too. I realized right then what I had been feeling last night, and this
morning. Home didn't really feel like home anymore. It no longer felt at
all like a place where I belonged, or where I could be happy.
I tried to shake the feeling, tried to tell myself that I was just upset
over the graffiti, but it stuck with me all day, clinging to me like the
smell of smoke will long after you leave a bar. At the police station, I
spoke with the investigator handling the case, a man who looked at me
sideways as if he didn't really think this merited much police
attention. He explained that they had no leads, but would do everything
they could. I thanked him and left, noticing people looking at me and
whispering as I walked out. By the time I got to the school, I was about
ready to slap the next person who pointed at me and muttered something
behind their hand. The secretary favored me with a frosty glare of
contempt, and wouldn't make eye contact as she announced to Mr. Richardson
that I was there, and then showed me in.
"So, Jack," Mr. Richardson began, shaking my hand. He was a large man, some
sort of ex-jock of some kind, but was always friendly. "That's quite a tan
you're getting. How's the summer treating you?"
"It's been odd, Don," I answered, smiling. "Or haven't you seen the news?"
"Oh, you know, it would be hard to miss, especially with the girls begging
me to invite you and your friend over for dinner," Don answered,
smiling. He had twin teenage daughters, and was raising them both by
himself. I imagined that the house must be a constantly simmering storm of
teenage angst. "You don't want to come over, by the way, do you? The girls
are enormous fans of the band, although, to be honest, they had to explain
to me which one was which."
"I don't know if I can make it out for dinner, but I bet I can get
something sent out to the house," I answered. Don had always been nice to
me. "Something autographed. You know."
"That would be great, Jack, but you don't have to go to any trouble," Don
said, leaning back in his chair. That was usually the signal that small
talk was over. "So, what brings you to my office on your vacation?"
"Carla called me last night," I answered, leaning back as well. "Did you
see the paper this morning?"
"Oh, yes," Don said. "Sorry to hear about your apartment, and I hope all of
your things are ok, but that's not what you wanted to talk about, is it?"
"Not really, but thanks," I answered. "Everything's fine."
"If it's about the petition, it's garbage," Don said, crossing his
hands. "I already talked to the superintendent, and we have no intention of
removing you or asking you to step down, regardless of how many parents
protest. You've gotten the highest level performance evaluations for your
entire time with us. There has never been a single concern about your
commitment or your performance, and this vague morality issue they're
trying to raise is just ignorant, uneducated bullshit."
My eyebrows went up. Don never swore unless he was truly pissed off about
something.
"As for the media circus, well, do you see a circus?" he asked, gesturing
toward the window behind him. I shook my head. "Yeah, me neither. The media
can't enter school grounds without permission anyway, and it's hard to fire
someone on the grounds that you think something might happen just because
they work here, especially if they're not doing anything to cause it. Does
that about sum up the official position of the administration for you,
Jack?"
"Actually, it does," I answered, matching his grin.
"So what else can I do for you?" Don asked.
"Well, in light of what you just said, this is going to sound a little
odd," I began. "I do want to say thank you, both to you as a friend and to
the rest of the administration, for supporting me on this. I've never felt
like you didn't, and it really has meant a lot to me. What I need you to
do, though, Don, is to agree to write me a really good recommendation, and
to please accept my resignation without any hard feelings."
Don gaped at me, open mouthed.
"Jack, are you leaving the field?" he asked finally.
"No, I'm just thinking of relocating," I answered. "And yes, before you
ask, it's for Josh. He hasn't asked me to, not seriously, but I love him,
Don. I love him enough to uproot myself for him, and I think I'm going to
be with him for a long time."
"This is kind of sudden. Are you sure?" he asked. I nodded. "Then I guess
we have a couple other things to talk about."
When Don and I finally finished, everything was set and signed. I asked him
to please keep it to himself for a couple days, until I could tell all of
my friends on the staff, and he agreed, wishing me luck. I promised to keep
in touch, and then went to go collect Carla.
"How did it go?" she asked.
"Fine," I answered. "I'll tell you everything over dinner."
We stopped on the way home to get some groceries, and to grab a few
newspapers. Sure enough, the story had gone out over the AP wire, but the
major papers didn't seem to consider it much more than a tiny blurb. It
probably wouldn't even have been counted as that if it hadn't happened so
close to the main story. Josh and I really needed to hurry up and decide
who we were going to give an interview to, I realized.
Carla and I both tried to act nonchalant and unconcerned, but we were both
watching the clock like hawks with prey, following the hands as they spun
on their inexorable path toward five. At ten of, we heard a knock at the
door. Both of us jumped up, running for it.
"It's my present!" I said, elbowing her out of the way.
"It's my house!" she replied. "And it could just be the neighbors wanting a
cup of sugar or something."
I yanked the door open, and it wasn't a present or a neighbor.
It was Josh.
***
More to come soon.